We Were Supposed to be Married
by Newtinmpls
Summary: [new title] A scouting troop of Buckmoth Legion's finest went to investigate Ilnuibi; they did't come back when expected. A worried young woman gets very bad news about the condition of her fiancee, but she just can't give up. Not yet.
1. Chapter 1

_Authors note:This story is harmoniedusoir's fault and I mean that in a good way. I was in the process of writing a description of someone seeing corprus for the first time when I read her story "The Messenger". For the first time I saw that trooper who made it back from Illinubi as more than just a faceless victim. __So I added a chapter where someone brings back the news of this tragedy to that trooper's family, and just to make it even more tragic, I added a fiancée. I then went on to write other chapters in that story._

_In the back of my mind was that fiancée, still stunned and weeping and disbelieving. _

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own invention. I play with a number of mods, and when something specific appears in my story based on a mod, I will do my best to give the mod author credit.**

* * *

**~~The News~~**

Vyctayna Hastien stood on the stool in the front of her mother's clothier shop, hands covering her mouth. The pinned length of rose colored fabric that was to have been her wedding dress slowly unraveled to the floor with a silky whisper.

"Dyus." She whispered softly. No one heard her.

Beside her stood her mother Millie Hastien, hands still full of pins, eyes on the reluctant speaker standing against the wall of the shop hear the doorway. Near the door stood Aditte, Vyctayna's twin, her right hand clutching, white knuckled, at the bracer of her intended, Alodie Jes. He had just returned from Fort Hawkmoth. He was resplendent in his new armor. His left hand was gently patting Aditte's.

The whole family was staring at a weary looking red haired bosmer woman. She wore chitin armor that had clearly been repaired many times. Across her back were two spears, an ornate bow and a quiver of arrows. On anyone else it would have looked strange or excessive, but somehow all the weaponry seemed to be a part of this mer. Her expression was guarded and sympathetic, though she avoided meeting anyone's gaze.

She was talking to Aditte and Alodie. Explaining that the patrol sent from Fort Buckmoth to Illinubi had been slaughtered, with only one survivor.

"Dyus," Vyctayna whispered again. He had to be alive. Wouldn't she know it if something had happened? Wouldn't she feel it if he had died? "He's not dead. He can't be dead."

"The survivor," the bosmer spoke slowly, still looking more into the distance than at any one person, "was cursed with a terrible disease. For the moment he is being kept at Buckmoth Legion Fort for examination."

Alodie was still patting Aditte's pale hand. "Examination?" He asked softly.

The bosmer nodded. "He has corprus."

Silence spread through the room like darkness at sunset.

Vyctayna burst out. "But. He's alive - Dyus is alive."

Alodie turned as if he was going to answer, but the bosmer beat him to it. She looked directly at Vyctayna and the pain in the bosmer's eyes made the Breton girl go cold.

"There is no more Dyus. There is only the twisted remnant of what he was. What is left is no more him than … than your clothing is you." She trailed off.

Vyctayna felt numb. "Other diseases can be cured. There's even a cure for blight. There are healers, there's magic. Someone can help him."

For a moment the bosmer looked oddly embarrassed, and slightly angry. Then she said. "Divayth Fyr, a powerful wizard of the Telvanni, has studied this disease for many many years. In all that time, he has barely uncovered small parts of what he thinks it is. There is no cure."

"He keeps a place," The bosmer continued, "where victims of this disease are kept safe, and fed and studied. Some of them are hundreds of years old, or older. They are shambling hulks, mindless twisted appetites. There is nothing of man or mer left of them." She paused then, frowning ever so slightly as if recalling something.

If Vyctayna hadn't been watching so intently she might have missed it, and she interrupted eagerly. "There is something. There's someone who is different."

The redhead looked frustrated for a moment, and then said. "I shall not raise false hopes. There is no cure. If you want him to be cared for, you could bring him to the coprusarim at Tel Fyr and he would be safe there. If you go to Tel Fyr, you could try speaking with Uupse Fyr or Vistha-Kai. They have worked with these victims. They won't lie to you."

"But maybe." Vyctayna whispered.

The bosmer shook her head, red hair momentarily obscuring her too-knowing eyes. "There is no cure. I'm sorry."

Alodie spoke up. "I thank you for telling us. The legion should have given me this responsibility. Most of the officers at Buckmoth and Hawkmoth would have known I was coming here."

The momentary flash in the mer's eyes said that she'd thought of that. Saying nothing, she just nodded slightly in acknowledgment and then squared her shoulders and turned to face Millie. "I know Vyctaynana will not be able to hear this, but it needs to be said. Dyus is lost. He's just a twisted husk of a body. Jumbled nightmares are all that is left of his mind." Her eyes seemed to go dark for a moment, "he will live like this, and keep living, unless someone does him the kindness of ending it."

Vyctaynana made a small sound of pain.

"I am sorry." The bosmer said again, "I am more sorry than I can say." Then she turned and left. At the last moment she reached out and turned the little display sign from 'open' to 'closed'.

As the door was just about closed, Millie stopped her with a word.

"Cylsandra," She called softly.

The door stopped moving. The mer waited.

"Thank you for telling us."

The door was gently closed.

**~~The Nightmare~~**

Vyctaynana spent the next few hours just sitting and staring. Or maybe it was days. She wasn't sure. She couldn't sleep because she had dreams of Dyus calling out to her, or dead. Or dreams that echoed over and over Cylsandra's sorrowful words; 'a_ twisted husk' 'the kindness of ending it'_.

She sat, holding her her lute, fingers shifting as if to make chords, but not strumming. She wanted to play something to get her feelings out, something to make her feel better. There was nothing.

She knew that there were terrible diseases in Morrowind. She'd seen serious cases of Helljoint, where the victims could barely walk. Even once a case of Serpiginous Dementia; where Ra'Virr's little daughter T'sabi had lost most of her fur to thick patches of scaley growth and been terrified by things only she could see. Luckily Tyermaillin, gentle golden-haired altmer, had recognized it and been able to cure it.

Surely Tyermailian, who was a very skilled healer, would know something to do? Or maybe a mage? There could be a spell. Or could someone make one?

She paced back and forth in her room, unable to sleep, twisting a drop spindle in hands that wanted to be doing something useful. Years ago when her family still lived in Cheydinhal, one of her friends, a nord boy named Vidkun had talked to her about magic. He'd said that the really skilled mages didn't just learn spells, they created new ones. Surely there was hope?

Except for the fact that in hundreds of years, one of the most powerful Wizards in the world hadn't found a cure yet.

Dyus, how can I help you?

She didn't eat until her mother Millie stood over her while she finished a bowl of saltrice and scrib. As soon as her mother left, Vyctayna went back to her pacing. He wasn't dead. There had to be hope. There just had to be.

The endless circling of her thoughts was interuppted by a soft knock on the door.

Vyctayna knew that she was being rather selfish, keeping to herself, blocking her sister from their room, but she just didn't want to face anyone's sympathy right now. She called out a warning. "I don't want to talk to you, Aditte."

The door opened, and an Imperial tenor answered. "Then it's a good thing I'm not her."

Vyctayna turned, surprised as Alodie stepped into the room. She couldn't help but notice he was wearing a grey shirt and leggings that she'd never seen before. Likely something new that Aditte and Millie had worked on. The embroidery at the upright collar and stiff cuffs of the shirt was vaugely military. It looked good. It also made her think of Dyus. Eveything made her think of Dyus. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here because you don't have much time if you really want to see what's left of him."

Fear clutched at her heart with chill fingers. "What do you mean?"

With a glance at her for permission, he sat next to her on the bed. "Arnand Liric is the healer and alchemist for Fort Buckmoth. If it were up to him, he would keep Dyus alive indefinetly. However Raesa Pullia is the highest ranking officer there, and she thinks it's a dishonor to his service and his dignity to keep him alive. She is pushing for what she calls a respectful mercy killing."

Before Vyctayna could object, he held up one hand to stop her. "Dyus' father died in battle. His family has a proud tradition of losing it's sons and brothers that way; they're almost nord in the way they think about it. The point is that right now he has cousins who are not yet decided. If you were to go, by virtue of being his intended, you could make this decision. But you would have to go very soon."

Vyctayna was simultaneiously torn between wanting to see him, and wanting to deny what he had become. Maybe they were wrong, maybe it was some other trooper. But if that was the case then he really was dead. "I-" She didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure what she wanted.

Alodie turned so that he was seated next to her, but not facing her. "For what it's worth, I would have asked the same questions. I mean about the magic or something." He was obviously turning something over in his mind. "I think maybe, maybe something could be done for him."

Vyctayna turned on him, gripping his shoulder, wrinking the fabric of his new shirt. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

He shook his head, and met her gaze. "It's not my place. Cylsandra was right, there is no cure, and the coprusarium has been caring for victims for thousands of years, supposedly."

The blood drained from Vyctayna's face. Dyus could live - as a twisted remnant of a person - for a thousand years?

Alodie took her face in his hands. "Look at me, Vyctayna. I need to tell you something. Some months ago I had a job. Not one that anyone wanted, and I've had a few unfortunate run-ins about my attitude, so I took this one. I needed to do something to get back into my superior's good graces. The legion tries to maintain good relations with the Temple," He sighed. "Okay, I'm making it too complicated. Anyway, the point is that I was one of the escorts for a dunmer pilgrim named Tanusea Veloth, to escort her out of Vivec _because she had corprus_."

"I understand Alodie, other people have gotten it, and-"

"No, you _don't_ understand. _She was sane_. She had marks of the disease, enough to show that she had it, but she wasn't twisted by it. She wasn't driven mad by it. She was quoting complicated bits of scripture at me the whole time we spoke."

She stared at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

He looked down. "Maybe I'm giving you false hope," he admitted, "but Dyus Varrio was a friend of mine. He saved my life more than once. And you are the only one who can give him a chance, if there is one."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say 'why me', but he'd just told her why. As Dyus' fiancee she was the closest relative he had. The only one who could fight for this chance. If it was a chance.

Alodie continued. "Tanusea went to the corprusarium. She's probably still there."

She nodded silently.

"If you decide that you want to see Dyus, and it would have to be in the next day or so, I will escort you. I've already talked to Aditte about it."

He patted her hand, and then silently got up and left. The door closed softly behind him.

Vyctayna looked at the door, and then stood up. She'd hidden long enough. More than long enough. It was time to act. Even if she was not entirely sure what to do.

**~~Officially Speaking~~**

Vyctayna waited until Mesaline's shift was over for the day. The petite Breton was running her fingers through her disordered hair and looking frustrated. She smiled on seeing Vyctayna, and then her smile faded. "I'm so sorry." She said.

Vyctayna accepted the implied hug. Then she asked. "Could I speak with you about ... learning about magick?"

Mesaline raised an eyebrow, and then glancing around, said. "I was just about to stop by the Eight Plates for a bit of a drink. Come with me."

Once outside the Guild Hall, she took Vyctayna by the hand and hastened south.

"I thought we were going-" Vyctayna began. After all the Eight Plates was just a block or so to the north.

"Trust me." Said the mage, and that was all she said till she had not only led the way to the Lucky Lockup, but had rented a room and cast several spells whose effects weren't anything that Vyctayna could detect.

Vyctayna pursed her lips. "I hadn't thought this was going to be that hard of a conversation. I mean don't you just sort of look at me, or test me and say yes I can learn magick or no I can't?"

Mesaline bit her lower lip. Then she gestured to the small rickety table where two chairs and a bottle of Greef waited for them. "Actually, no." She said. "I have to explain something, and I need your word that what I tell you does not leave this room. I could be in ... well, a lot of trouble. Dangerous trouble."

"Of course," Vyctayna placed her hand on the other woman's. "I'm not trying to get you to break rules or do anything dangerous."

"Okay."

They sat there. Vyctanya could see that Mesaline was very uncomfortable, so she just waited.

Finally, Mesaline ran her hands through her short unruly hair and said. "Anyone can learn magic."

Vyctana sat there for a moment.

"What?" She must have heard wrong.

"Anyone." Mesaline said, and then she let out a long slow breath. "It's not can you. It's should you. Because magick is the energies of ... of everything. If you open yourself to attempt a work of magic that is beyond what you can," she paused, looking around the room as if for inspiration. Eventually she said. "beyond what you can carry, then your body, your life pays the price."

Vyctanya's mouth opened, but she didn't actually say anything.

"Yes," Mesaline answered the question that the blonde breton was not daring to ask. "If you cast a work of magic that is too powerful for you, you can die of it. Or worse."

"What could be worse?" And then Vyctanya went silent.

"Lots of things." Muttered Mesaline. "And there is more. The guide of mages was formed mostly to fight against this really powerful necromancer."

"I'm not exactly sure what that is, anyway. Something to do with the dead?"

Mesaline nodded. "Death is natural. Taking a spirit that has died and forcing it to wear a dead body that originally belonged to someone or something else is not. Or even shoving it back into it's own body, or it's own bones."

Vyctanya hadn't really thought about it that way. She felt nauseated.

The other woman waved a hand. "That's not the issue anyway, it's just that the mages guide sometimes takes a dim view of anyone who isn't actually part of the guide doing any magic because they might be doing necromancy." She sighed. "And especially here on Morrowind, getting into the guide, and progressing and all that is sometimes more about who your family is and who you know. Dunmer like to take things slow, and they tend to start training mages very young." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this well."

"That's okay. I know that I won't be able to suddenly understand all the subtle workings of a magical guide in one conversation. So just tell me the main points." Somehow Mesaline's caution made Vyctanya want to get started. Get moving. Something.

"Okay. Summary. Ranis isn't going to let you into the guide, because you are too old. Which is not to say you can't learn magic. Just not there. Well, technically you could come to the guild and say you had some magical skills, and purchase some spells, but that's not what you need."

Vyctanya admitted. "I don't know what I need. What I will need."

Masalinie nodded. "Exactly. You need to understand what you are doing, and you need to understand how to explore on your own. So. In Labor Town there is an argonian called Only-He-Stands-There who would train you further, because he believes anyone with a need for the art should be taught."

"Would train me _further_?" The phraseology hadn't been lost on Vyctanya.

"Yes." Mesaline admitted. "He's reluctant to do the initial teaching sometimes, but if you show him that you aleady know at least one small magickal working, he'll take you further, and he really is a good teacher. So, um, you are going to buy your first spells from me. I'll teach you how to cast magic."

Vyctanya felt a shiver work it's way down her spine. She wasn't sure if she was excited or nervous or maybe both. "When?"

"Now." Mesaline stood, and wiped off her palms on the sides of her robes.

"But," Vyctanya stood stiffly, looking around. "There's no, um, arcane altar or whatever you call them."

Mesaline looked startled for a moment. Then she smiled, and said. "I keep forgetting you weren't born here."

"I was born and raised in Cheydinhal," Vyctanya said. "The head of the Mages' Guide there was an altmer named Falcar. Really tall, even when he was sitting if you know what I mean. Kind of a scary sort. Anyway, before we moved here, I used to know a young nord who was starting his apprenticeship with Falcar, and so I heard little bits about the Guild Hall and how Falcar always insisted on doing things The Right Way."

"Sounds a lot like Ranis," Masalinie said thoughtfully. Then she nodded to herself, stood up and brushed her hands off against her robes again. "Okay. Um. First I'm going to teach you just a little magick. It will let you accelerate your body's ability to heal itself from an injury."

"But the altar?"

Masalinie shook her head. "That's not how we do it here. I'll show you." She stepped close to Vyctanya and held out her hands, left palm facing the ceiling, right palm facing the floor. "Put your hands on mine. It doesn't matter if we lock fingers - it just has to be palm to palm, and the energy will flow in a sort of a circle. It can be kind of hard to feel it at first."

Hesitantly, Vyctanya put her palms to the mage's.

"Now the first thing I'm going to do is cast the spell so you can feel it. You aren't injured, so it's not going to do anything, but the healing energies will be pretty easy for you to feel." After a second, Masalinie added. "You might want to close your eyes."

The mage could feel cold sweat coming off Vyctanya's palms, and a slight tremor going through her. "Think of it like listening with your hands." Masalinie made her voice gentle. "I've seen you use a drop spindle. So think of me as making the thread, and you are close enough to touch it. You can feel it going through your fingers; feel all the little fibers coming together to make a good strong thread."

So Vyctanya imagined that, imagined having carded daedra silk and somnalius bolls and then twisting it onto a drop spindle. She could feel the cool smoothness of the silk, the subtle brush of the smnalius fibers. Somehow it was even stronger then when she spun them. She could feel the cord in a circle, around between her hands and Masalinie's, gentle movement.

Then it faded.

She opened her eyes to see Masalinie smiling at her. "You felt it, didn't you?"

"Yes," She said hesitantly. "It wasn't so scary as I imagined." She felt her cheeks go pink. "It was very nice."

"Now listen again, Vyc, because you are going to try it too."

Vycyanya swallowed. "Okay."

By the time Masalinie was done with her, Vyctanya had been able to cast the healing spell, as well as a strange little enchantment that called into being a jagged dagger made of some coppery material that felt more like bone than metal. It didn't stay long, but it felt very comfortable in Vyctanya's hand.

**~~In the Dark~~**

Late that night she sat on her small bed. She stared across the dimly lit room at the other bed where her younger sister Aditte lay sprawled, limbs akimbo and hair tangled across the pillow. She thought about how happy Aditte had been to see her Alodie, her knight in shining armor. Envious tears trickled down Vyctanya's cheeks, and she wiped at her face with the back of her hand.

Dyus had been the only survivor. He was supposed to the the hero.

She was supposed to be the maiden. If anyone was going to need saving, it should have been her. And a kiss by her knight was supposed to be all the saving she needed.

She had known exactly who she was, and had known the path her life would take. She hadn't thought of herself as a person who could fight, or ever would. Or do magick. She wasn't supposed to be someone who needed to do any of that.

Cylsandra's sorrowful comments echoed in her memory. _'Cursed with a terrible disease', 'there is no cure'_.

Alodie had been honest; the hope he offered was unrealistic and unlikely, and that was the best case. The only chance. Maybe not even a real one.

Quietly, so as not to wake her sister, she laid back onto the bed. In the morning she would talk to Only-He-Stands-There, and then Tyrmallian, and then she would ask Alodie to take her to Fort Buckmoth, and to Tel Fyr. In the morning.

Early in the morning.

She stared at the ceiling and didn't sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors note: If you happen to have read Tomb Lord's Apprentice, you may notice that Vyctayna is not the original name of this character. Her original name was just a throwaway grab from the wiki list of Breton names, and I never really cared for it. I find that I can't write a character in any depth without having a name that works for me. Someday maybe I'll go back to that other story and update her name. Or maybe this is actually her middle name._

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own invention. I play with a number of mods, and when something specific appears in my story based on a mod, I will do my best to give the mod author credit.**

**~~The Meeting~~**

Vyctayna sat up in bed, abruptly awake. She was breathing hard, covered with sweat. She rubbed her face, tyring to forget the vivid images of Dyus Varrio, twisted, bloated and covered with weeping sores that lingered from her nightmares.

She dressed hurriedly. Alodi Jes, her sister's fiancee, had agreed to take her to Fort Buckmoth to see Dyus. _What was left of Dyus_. No, she wouldn't think that way. There had to be some way to save him. There had to be something she could do. Or something someone could do. Diseases could be cured. There were healers. And magic.

Pulling a cloak on over her clothing, she headed downstairs. She could hear the sounds of her mother at the spinning wheel, and crept as quietly as possible past her. She did not want any sympathy. She wanted to do something.

She paused on the stair outside her mother's clothier shop. Looking to her right, she could see the walk bridges that led to the east side of Balmorra, known as Labor Town. Even this early in the morning, she could make out activity. People grouped around something, cheering. She frowned, trying to work out what was happening. Then came a distant thud. The group dispersed in all directions, leaving behind someone laying on the ground.

Even from this distance, she could see the short length of what had to be a dagger handle protruding from the neck of the fallen mer.

She was two blocks away from the walk bridge across the Oadi river. She could see a pair of city guardes on the bridge; they had been walking toward Labor Town. Their golden-hued armor caught the sunlight. As she watched, they continued pacing the bridge, got to the end nearest Labor Town and turned around again, ignoring the body that was only ten or twenty feet from the far edge of the bridge.

Behind them two slight shapes scurried over to the fallen one, riffling through clothing. They were small enough to be children._ Could they really be children_?

Numbly she took the few steps down to the street level.

Another golden-clad guarde came from the direction of the Temple and crossed right in front of her. He (or she - it was impossible to tell, because the golden suit of armor worn by all the members of the city guarde included a full helmet) paused and turned slightly to look down at Vyctanya. Well, most any dunmer stood much taller than any bosmer, so that didn't really take much effort.

"Outlander." The whisper was a low disapproving hiss. She'd heard it many times before, but this morning for some reason the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Then the guard turned abruptly and headed southwest, toward the Hlaalu compound that was the most imposing building in Balmorra.

She bit her lip. Was that a bad omen?

Then she walked quickly south toward the market square.

It took her about twenty minutes to find Hul, a young argonian who occasionally would offer her services as a guide to those new to the city. It took another twenty minutes and four septims for Hul to agree to lead Vyctayna to the South Wall Cornerclub where Mesalie had said Only-He-Stands-There could be found.

Hul looked her up and down after accepting the fee. "The questionss you musst ssave for another. Attend Sswiftly to my directionss. Walk as a dunmer among nobless."

With that, Hul led her on a rapidly twisting path through back alleys. Between trying to walk like a dunmer, which she took to mean with total confidence in the absolute inferiority of everyone else, and trying to keep up with the argonian, Vyctayna had no time left to get too worried about where they were going.

The South Wall Cornerclub had probably once been a very fine building. The lines of the curved stonework were graceful, and the wind-eaten tapestry that named the place still spoke faintly of the skill that had gone into it's creation.

Hul led her into the darkened corridors where only every other sconce was lit with fitfully sparking torches. The sickly scent of alcohol, skooma and vomit made Vyc try not to breathe very deeply. By the first turn in the initially empty corridor, she was lightheaded. She wasn't sure if it was from the scents or from trying not to breathe them.

A small table with a filthy but once fine lamp sat in the corner where the corridor took an abrupt turn to the left. Playing some kind of card game sat two individuals; a nord woman with her back to the entry way and a kajiit whose eyes were dilated to black in the dim light. The nord was tall even sitting, and wore nondescript robes bulky enough to cover any sort of armor. The single braid down her back was light brown. The kajiit was garbed in the pale chitin armor reputed to come from the deep aslands. Vyctayna didn't know much about weaponry, but she could see small hilts of weapons under armor strapped onto the Kajiit's forearms as well as another larger looking weapon at the warrior's hip.

Neither of the card players offered more than a single glance. The lack of overt aggression should probably have been reassuring, but it just made odd shivers go up and down the Breton's spine.

Hul nodded to the Kajiit. "One greets Sugar-Lips and asks if the learned argonian might be present?"

The Kajiit looked up from her hand of cards and smiled. Or at least Vyctayna hoped it was a smile. There seemed to be a lot of teeth involved.

"Indeed, he yet remains." The large eyes glanced up and down at Vyc. "So the young clothier seeks lessons of another kind?"

Vyctayna's mouth opened, then closed. How had the Kajiit known who she was? Surely they'd never actually met.

The argonian nodded briefly and then without looking back, beckoned. "Questions you shall be able to ask, Breton."

Down several flights of stairs, the corridor opened into a smoke-filled room complete with two counters backed with various bottles and supplies. The larger seemed to be occupied mostly by heavyset men nursing large tankards or even larger bottles. The smaller had only one customer, a small ginger striped kajiit wearing a ragged dress that should really have been retired to rag duty at least a year ago. She was slowly inhaling from something that looked like a teapot but made bubbling sounds as she took puffs from it.

The kajiit seemed to notice Vyctayna's gaze on her, and looked up with an odd smile. Without ever taking her lips away from the … tube extending from the teapot-thing, the kajiit murmured softly, "ahhh sweet skooma."

A firm hand at the breton's elbow brought her attention back to her guide. Hul was frowning at her, "the bosmer came with a purpose, did sshe not?" Vyc was steered past the bars to a back corner of the large room where under trailing hanging plants, an imposing Argonian waited.

He stood at least seven and a half feet tall. Dual crests flared from the sides of his head, adorned with stylized gold rings clearly made in the shape of coiling serpents. Vyctayna knew the serpent was a sigil used by many of the healing societies. His robes were richly embroidered sedge cotton, which had to have been imported from Cyrodiil.

The younger argonian gave a small bow of the head. "Questions lead a traveler here to consult with the healer. Her esscort will wait near the sstair for an hour."

Before Vyctayna could object, Hul had darted back toward the entryway. She glanced up at the tall argonian to see that she was being carefully scrutinized.

Feeling heat rise in her cheeks, she said. "My name is Vyctayna Hastien. Um, Masalinie Merian said I might be able to learn some things from you."

The argonian raised an eye-ridge in a gesture of surprise. "The humble people of labor town on occassion sseek learning of difficult kindss, thiss iss true. You are not from labor town. You have not the humble needs of the poor folk here."

The young Breton bit her lip. "I have to help … my fiancée. Mesaline said that you might be able to guide me in the ways of exploring what kind of healing magics would be needed."

"Your fiancée." The argonian murmured.

She flushed, thinking that he didn't believe her. "Yes," she said firmly, "they tell me that he's ill and there's no cure, but there's magic, it has to be able to save him." Seeing no reaction, she started worrying that he was going to send her away without knowing the whole story. "Alodie told me that Raesa, that's his commander at Fort Buckmoth, she said it wasn't respectful to let him die like that. But they can't just kill him. Someone has to do something, but there isn't anyone, but Mesaline said that-" Too late, she recalled her promise not to tell anyone, and stopped abruptly.

After a moment she said, "Um, I have learned a little bit of magic, but I don't know enough, and Mesaline says that I need to learn how to figure out what I need."

The argonian said carefully. "There are thosse sskilled in healing at the Fort, are there not? Even the fell blight that followss the winds from the ashlands may be relived with the proper blessingss."

Vyctayna bit her lip and then said quietly. "Alodie says there is no cure for corprus."

The agonian closed his eyes for a long moment. "Thiss one is ssaddened to hear of your losss."

"Please," she put her hand out, meaning to rest it on the healer's arm, but thought the better of it. "Please, Dyus isn't dead. He's not lost, not yet, not unless I give up. Alodie said he escorted a dunmer from Vivec to Tel Fyr. He said she had the marks of corprus, but no more. She was well, and she was clever. He said that wasn't supposed to be possible but it happened."

"And Alodie iss one who hass studied corpruss?"

Vyc flushed again. "No, not exactly. Alodie Jes, he's a legionnaire just like Dyus was. Like Dyus is. They were both stationed at Fort Buckmoth. They were friends."

She stared up at the unreadable expression of the argonian. "Please," she said finally. "Maybe it's not possible." Her throat closed for a moment and her vision swam with tears. "But I have to try."

The argonian held up a single taloned finger. "One quesstion, young Breton, only one quesstion would I assk." He paused. Then without judgment, without accusation, simply and carefully he gently spoke a single world.

"Why?"

It took three tries for Vyctayna to speak past the lump in her throat.

"If it was me." She blinked back her tears. "If it was me, he wouldn't give up either."


End file.
